


Decisions

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tamingthemuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-01
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 20:37:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/373091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sun is beating down like a son of a bitch, but the skin where Merle touched him is cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Decisions

**Author's Note:**

> \- Written for LJ's "tamingthemuse" community, for the prompt 'self conscious'  
> \- Merle is a racist. His views are not mine.  
> \- Gapfiller of sorts for Ep. 102, before Glenn's group goes on their foraging expedition. Technically I think Daryl would have been out tracking by then, so I'm using a little creative licence.
> 
> * * *

Glenn makes a case for going into the city on his own, like usual. But Shane the dick gets up in his face, tells him they need too much shit and he won't be able to lug it all back, names a bunch of must-have bullshit like bottled water and toilet paper, 'cause god fucking forbid this group keep boiling their water and wipe their shit with a handful of leaves. Would make too much fucking sense to focus on the stuff they _really_ need, like ammunition for the goddamn guns and arrows for the bow. 

Daryl tucks his hands under his arms and leans against the tree, watches the kid's face fall and the protests stutter on his lips. Watches Amy's lips pucker when Andrea volunteers to go along, her hand snatch at Andrea's elbow as if she could hold on tight and keep her there. Nobody looks stricken when T-Dog and Jacquie throw their names into the mix, 'cause those fuckers came in alone and if they die alone ain't nobody gonna mourn them for longer than it takes to say a word over their tents 'fore they fall on their goods like jackals.

It's just the three of them until Merle speaks up at his elbow.

"Reckon I'll go along for the ride," he says.

Daryl straightens, cuts his eyes to his brother, but Merle's wearing that shit-eating good ol' boy grin that says you fuck with him at your goddamn peril, so he knows enough to keep his mouth shut.

Shane ain't that smart. 

"Well, you know we 'preciate that, Merle," Shane says into the silence, "but maybe your skills are better suited to goin' out on the hunt with Daryl, there."

"Shiiit, Daryl don't need my help. Been doin' that shit practically since he was born. Ain't that right, little brother?" Merle answers. His hand clamps down companionably on Daryl's shoulder, but he squeezes just a little too tight, digs his thumb into the nape of his neck just a little too hard, and Daryl can only nod once in agreement. Not like it's a lie, anyway. He sure as fuck don't need Merle along to hold his hand.

"'Sides," Merle continues, "'s'only so long a man can sit around jerkin' the jimmy johnson 'fore he needs a little… diversion." He flashes that grin again, squeezes Daryl's neck once more before letting go. "I'll just get my gear."

* * *

He finds Merle by the pickup later, the tailgate folded down, already laying out a rail on the dirty truck bed. He glances from the line to the group of four huddled by the tents, the map spread out and Glenn's finger tracing the route into the city. Daryl can't hear his words but the cadence is all upbeat confidence. Now that the decision's been made, the kid looks eager to take charge, prove his leadership.

Daryl shakes his head. Shit like that just gets you killed. 

He steps in close, tries to look casual when he blocks the view from the others. Not that Merle gives a shit what they see.

"You sure this is a good idea?" he mutters.

"Fuck yeah," Merle drawls. He leans down, snorts the line in the dirt, lets out a low whistle before standing to his full height. He doesn't try to keep his voice down. "Somebody's gotta keep a goddamn eye on the chink and the niggers."

The muted voices from the tents go silent, and Daryl knows that if he looks over there he'll find carefully blank faces, everyone looking everywhere but at them. Merle claps a hand on his shoulder again but this time there's no veiled threat in the touch, just a tap before he swings a battered army surplus pack onto his back and swaggers off like he don't have a care in the fucking world. 

The sun is beating down like a son of a bitch, but the skin where Merle touched him is cold. 

He's been listening to Merle for as long as he can remember. Merle taught him to track, took him on his first turkey shoot, showed him where to hide when the old man went on a rampage. Taught him to fight, to shoot, to be a goddamn man. It ain't Merle's fault that he doesn't like the man he became.

Now thirty-plus years of listening, of fucking _obeying_ , wars with his instinct to go along, to keep an eye on things. To watch out and make sure nobody gets… hurt. Make sure the kid with his stupid hat and all that goddamn _idealism_ makes it back in one fucking piece.

When he finally glances over, Merle has claimed the passenger seat. Jacquie is folding up the map. And Glenn is looking at him. He meets the kid's eyes for one beat, two, watches the kid's teeth worry at his lower lip for another beat. When he swallows his throat feels dry, drier than it should even in this sweltering fucker of a summer. The kid's brow is furrowed and it feels like centuries go by while they stand there, baking in the heat, the noise of the camp and the bustle of the foraging party's imminent departure muted to white noise in his ears.

But when the kid takes a half-step forward and opens his mouth to speak Daryl jerks away, snatches the crossbow from the bed of the truck, makes sure his spare arrows are in place. If his hand slips while hefting the crossbow to his back, it's only because his hands are sweaty from the heat. If his heart is beating faster, it's only because he's anxious to get out on the hunt, have some meat that ain't squirrel for once. He found fresh spore just yesterday, and he's got a deer to track. 

By the time he turns back, he sees only taillights.


End file.
